The Calm Before the Storm

Sunday, October 26th, 08:00.

New Jersey,

Gotham City,

Gotham Heights.

The dojo stood before Esau, a quiet, unassuming building nestled within Gotham's urban sprawl, blending seamlessly into its surroundings. A modest wooden sign hung above the entrance, adorned with kanji that he could vaguely recognize but not fully read. The place had an air of age and experience, a stark contrast to the more modern dojos or training halls that catered to the city's wealthy clientele. There was a quiet sense of reverence about it, a stillness that seemed almost unnatural given the chaos of Gotham just outside its doors.

With a deep breath, Esau stepped forward, pushing the door open with a casual nudge. The moment he entered, he was greeted by the sight of a lone figure kneeling on the mat at the center of the room.

The man sat in absolute stillness, his breathing so controlled and steady that for a moment, Esau wondered if he had walked in on a statue. The dojo itself was pristine, the wooden floors polished to a gleam, the training mats carefully arranged, and weapons of various styles mounted neatly on the walls. The lighting was dim, adding to the atmosphere of tranquility.

'For dramatic effect?' Esau mused internally, raising a brow. He had seen his fair share of fighters in Gotham, but this was the first time he had encountered someone who exuded such an eerie combination of serenity and intimidation.

Then, without looking, the man spoke. "Leave your shoes at the door before stepping onto the mats." His voice was calm, but firm—an undeniable authority wrapped in a layer of controlled patience.

Esau glanced down at his boots, huffing softly before complying, stepping out of them and nudging them neatly to the side before making his way onto the mats. His footfalls were light, calculated, but even then, the Armless Master's eyes remained closed as if he was still deep in meditation.

"So," Esau finally spoke, his tone even but laced with curiosity. "I take it you're the Armless Master that Batgirl told me about?"

Slowly, the man's eyes opened, sharp and discerning. They studied Esau in a way that made him feel like he was being dissected, his worth being measured in that single glance. The man's face was lined with experience, his beard neatly trimmed, his head shaved save for a thin ponytail of black hair tied back. His gi was traditional, forest-green in color with golden accents, the sleeves—what would have been sleeves—cut away to reveal the reality behind his name.

"And you must be Black Hood…or Marauder…or Maelstrom." The Master's voice carried a faint trace of amusement.

Esau narrowed his eyes, his body instinctively tensing at the mention of his past aliases. He hadn't expected the Armless Master to be so well-informed. It put him on edge, though he knew better than to show too much outward reaction. "Not totally comfortable with the fact that you know all that," he admitted, arms crossing over his chest. "But if Batman and Batgirl trust you, then so be it."

The Armless Master nodded, not a hint of offense in his expression. Instead, there was an undeniable weight behind his gaze, a sense of depth and neutrality that was difficult to define. "I do not concern myself with heroes or villains," the Master stated plainly, his voice even. "But as a teacher, I do concern myself with my students. Those who come to learn from me, I do not judge based on their path—only their dedication to mastering the art."

Esau listened, his expression unreadable as the Master continued.

"I will not stand in the way of my students' choices. Whether they seek to be warriors, protectors, or conquerors…that is not for me to decide. But I will not stop them from reaching their fullest potential either."

The words carried a weight to them, an unshakable conviction that resonated within the dojo. Esau could respect that level of neutrality—it was rare in Gotham, where everything seemed to be drawn into an endless struggle between light and dark.

"Bruce trusts that about me," the Armless Master continued, "which is why I still stand here, teaching in Gotham without interference. If you are worried that I will expose your identity, you needn't be."

Esau studied the older man carefully before exhaling softly, nodding in reluctant acceptance. "Fair enough," he conceded, rolling his shoulders as he glanced around the dojo once more. "Guess that means I'm in the right place."

The Armless Master nodded once, the barest hint of a knowing smirk touching his lips. "Then let us see if you are worthy of being here."

-X-

Sunday, October 26th, 13:00

New Jersey,

Gotham City,

Gotham Heights.

The back room of the Burnley Town Massive's hideout was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of cigars, old leather, and cheap whiskey. The walls were lined with wooden shelves filled with stacks of cash, weapons, and the occasional relic from their past heists—trophies of their criminal exploits. The place had the feeling of a war room, where plans were laid, alliances were forged, and power was either gained or lost.

Able Crown sat at the head of a worn but sturdy table, his posture relaxed, but his eyes sharp with curiosity. The rest of his top men sat around him, some leaning back in their chairs, others nursing drinks, all waiting to hear what the unexpected visitor had to say.

Alton Carver stood before them, carrying himself with the ease of a man who was used to standing in rooms filled with dangerous people, unfazed by the weight of a dozen stares sizing him up.

Able took a slow drag from his cigar before exhaling, waving the smoke away lazily as he studied Alton. "You've got my attention, Talon. You said you bring news from the Light?"

The name alone was enough to command silence. Even the most skeptical of his men straightened in their seats. The Light. An organization that had seemingly emerged from the shadows, moving with such careful precision that they had changed the very fabric of power dynamics in the world.

Able didn't know much about them—no one really did. He didn't know how they had started, who sat at the head of their table, or how deep their influence truly ran. What he did know, however, was that those who aligned themselves with the Light often saw unprecedented success. Even against the likes of the Justice League, the Light had proven themselves capable of weaving intricate plans that led to long-term victories, if not outright dominance.

Able had been watching closely as major criminal players across the world, from metahuman traffickers to arms dealers and drug lords, had quietly begun swearing allegiance to the Light. Even in Gotham, where chaos had long been the ruling power, a strange coordination had taken place, a fragile peace imposed not by the police, nor by Batman, but by something unseen.

That wasn't coincidence. That was power.

Now, the Light had come to him.

Alton smiled thinly, adjusting his cufflinks before speaking. "The Light has been watching Gotham, Crown. Watching the shifts in power, the rise and fall of its rulers. And we've decided—it's time for someone to take control."

Able leaned back in his chair, smoke curling from his lips as he tapped the ash off his cigar. "Oh yeah? And who exactly does the Light think should be running Gotham?"

Alton's smile didn't waver. "You."

Silence hung in the air for a moment, then laughter erupted from a few of Able's men. It was a mix of genuine amusement and disbelief. Even Able himself chuckled, shaking his head as he set his cigar down on the ashtray.

"That's a hell of a joke, Talon. You telling me that after the death of Black Mask and his False Face Society at the hands of Black Hood…after the fall of the Cosa Nostra to the Hammer…that somehow I'm the best choice to take the throne?"

Alton didn't react, didn't waver. He simply remained standing, his gaze steady. "Yes."

Able's mirth faded slightly as he narrowed his eyes. "Surely, if we're talking about running Gotham, the Falcone Crime Family, the Maroni Crime Family, or even the Hammer would be better suited. They're the ones with the history, the ones with roots deep enough to weather any storm. The ones with the power and influence."

Alton nodded as if he had anticipated this response. "And that is exactly why they are not the right choice." He stepped forward, placing both hands on the table, his voice lowering slightly. "They've been in power too long. They're too set in their ways, too stubborn to adapt. The Light believes that Gotham needs new blood—a leader who is hungry for power, not one who assumes it's theirs by right."

Able stared at him, weighing his words. He wasn't a fool. He knew what this was. "If the Light helps me take Gotham," he said slowly, "then I'll owe them. And that means my organization falls in line, just like the rest."

Alton's lips curled into a small smirk. "You're not a dumb man, Crown. You understand how the world works. No empire is built without backing. The Light is offering you an opportunity—a guarantee—that when the dust settles, it'll be you sitting at the top, not Falcone, not Maroni, not the Hammer."

Able took a deep breath, leaning back in his chair, fingers drumming against the table. He wasn't a man who rushed decisions. The Burnley Town Massive had clawed their way up from street-level nobodies into a force to be reckoned with. They weren't as old as the other crime families, but they were scrappy, vicious, and smart enough to know when an opportunity came knocking.

This was an opportunity unlike any other.

The risk was obvious—dealing with the Light meant playing a game with shadows deeper than Gotham's alleys. But the reward…Gotham as his city? That was something he couldn't let slip through his fingers.

Slowly, he exhaled, reaching for his cigar again. "Alright," he said finally, taking a long drag before blowing out a steady stream of smoke. "I'm listening."

Alton nodded, his smirk widening ever so slightly. "Then let's talk business."

-X-

Sunday, October 26th, 15:00.

New Jersey,

Gotham City,

Gotham Heights.

Alton Carver stood atop a crumbling rooftop in Gotham's East End, the wind howling through the skeletal remains of an old industrial complex. Below him, the city stretched out like a living organism—its veins the glowing neon signs, its breath the plumes of smoke rising from rusted chimneys, its heart beating in the constant hum of traffic and the distant wails of sirens. Gotham was alive, but like any living thing, it could be strangled, choked into submission by the right hands.

Behind him, two figures emerged from the shadows, their presence silent but potent.

Raptor stood with an effortless confidence, his form wrapped in his signature garb—golden-orange gloves and boots, the faded green of his attire blending into the night. His stance exuded a casual menace, his grin sharp as a blade. He flexed his fingers, as if itching to sink his claws into flesh.

Beside him, Saiko was a ghost of a man, clad in dark armor, his hood drawn up to shadow his sharp, angular features. His stance was different—tight, controlled, coiled like a viper waiting to strike. He didn't move unless he had to, a perfect contrast to Raptor's more animated energy.

Alton turned, his gaze settling on them with approval. These were not mere assassins. These were weapons, honed by some of the deadliest forces in the world. The Court of Owls had created many nightmares over the years, but Raptor and Saiko were among their most terrifying. The fact that they now stood before him, awaiting his orders, was proof of how far he had come.

"The Maroni Crime Family," Alton said simply, his voice carrying in the wind. "Their lieutenants need to start dropping. Tonight."

Raptor chuckled, his grin widening. "Straight to the bloodshed. You always did have a flair for the dramatic."

Alton didn't rise to the bait. "It needs to be quick and efficient. But I want it contained, opportunities presented in a way that will prevent open war, and instead create paranoia as the sharks feed off the Maroni's festering corpse, wondering how the feast came before them all the while they eat from the table we set before them."

Saiko nodded. "Fear is a weapon. And once they're looking over their shoulders, they'll be too distracted to see the knife slipping into their ribs."

Alton's lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Exactly." He turned back toward the cityscape, his eyes sweeping over Gotham like a predator surveying his hunting grounds. "The Light has provided funding, resources. But the strategy? That's all mine. This city is a powder keg. All it needs is the right spark."

Raptor cracked his knuckles. "You sure the Burnley Town Massive is up for this? They're not exactly in the same league as Maroni's crew."

Alton chuckled darkly. "They're pawns. Useful for now, disposable when the time comes. They'll start the war, but they won't survive it. The real players will step in once the flames are high enough."

Saiko tilted his head slightly. "And what about the Bat? He might be absent now, but you know he always returns."

Alton's gaze hardened. "By the time he does, Gotham will already be mine."

Silence settled between them, the only sound the distant honk of a horn and the hum of the city beneath them.

Raptor and Saiko didn't need further instruction. They knew what needed to be done. Without another word, they melted into the darkness, their forms vanishing from sight as they leapt across the rooftops, heading out to carve their way through Gotham's criminal hierarchy.

Alton remained where he was, breathing in the cold Gotham air, letting it fill his lungs like the taste of an inevitable victory. He had waited for this. He had bled for this. The last time he had underestimated his enemy, it had cost him everything—his power, his influence, and worst of all, his pride.

Not again. Never again.

He clenched his fists, eyes narrowing as he thought of the one person who had been the catalyst for his downfall.

Esau.

The memory of his betrayal burned in his mind like an ember that refused to die. Esau had taken everything from him, left him in the shadows to rot while he rose higher and higher. But Alton wasn't one to stay down for long. He had rebuilt himself, stronger, smarter, and now with the backing of the Light, he was unstoppable.

This wasn't just about power.

This was about retribution.

When the time was right, Esau would pay.

Alton turned away from the ledge, disappearing into the shadows, his mind already calculating the next move in his grand design.

Gotham belonged to him.

It just didn't know it yet.